


Battle Scars

by Risilliance



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Post SBURB, possible future mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Risilliance/pseuds/Risilliance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because some scars don't fade just because you've walked away from the battlefield. </p>
<p>Post Sburb, featuring the beta kids and guardians as they nurse their wounds and try to carry on in a world that's forgotten them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dave ==> Wake Up

Dave ==> Wake up

No.

The alarm clock blares persistently, yelling at you to get up.

Fuck no.

You reach out toward it blindly, feeling around for the snooze button. But before you reach it, your hand finds something better: your timetables. One of them anyway. You scratch it, manipulate time, and the alarm stops. Another hour or two of sleep. Then you'd get up.

Or restart time again and grab a few more Z's. Whatever.

Wait…

What the hell?

Suddenly, you shoot up out of bed as if the sheets were catching fire. You whirl around and look at the clock. The numbers 4:14 stare at you blankly, casting a slight, eerie, red glow in the dark of your room. You stare at them for a few more moments, and that’s when the memories come back. One by one. 

The sky set alight with meteors, the crow, the egg, entering the medium, connecting to Rose's server, John dying, John living. You remember prototyping yourself, the orange, feathery asshole you turned into. The trolls, the imps, the swords, Bro dead, John dead again, Rose dead. And then you. You remember dying, bathed in blood, so many times.

You double over in pain as if you can feel every bullet in your chest, every knife wound, every single death you have ever experienced. The memories keep coming, playing inside your head like one of Egbert's stupid movies. The nakodiles, the frogs, Jack Noir, Bec Noir, Jade, her face as you died again. And then there was Derse, the moon, the tumor, Rose and her stupid ball of yarn, the explosion, another dead Dave. And then...god tier.

You crumble onto the floor into a ball, clawing at your face. "Make it stop!" You think you say. "Make it stop, make it stop, make it fucking STOP!" But the pain, the memories, they persist and you are powerless to stop them. Images flash in your mind. The scratch, the reset, another session, new but old. Meeting the trolls, riding on the meteor, manipulating time, dying, dying, dying. Confronting Noir. Killing him. Winning.

Winning...did you really win? Did you really beat the unbeatable game?

Everything stops as suddenly as it had started. The pain vanishes and the memories relent. You are able to catch your breath as you catch up with the world, extremely nauseous and shaken, but otherwise intact. You open your eyes without realizing you had closed them. A far away voice is shouting, calling your name, but you can barely make it out. You only stare in shock, gaze drifting to somewhere on the old stained carpet. You won. You won the game. It was over now. It was fucking over.

Rough hands grab your shoulders and shake you hard. Your head bangs on the floor, and the hands drop you immediately. You close your eyes again, shake your head to clear your thoughts, then open them once more. Your vision is blurry, but everything comes into focus in a moment, and you can see orange eyes staring at you with concern.

Alarm floods your system. Bro never looks at you like that, never looks at anyone like that, and the fact that he's looking at you nearly sets you on the verge of hysteria. But your name is Dave Strider, and you know of no such thing. So instead, you compose yourself - or at the very least, you try. You sit up, leaning on your elbows, with what is probably the classic 'deer in the headlights' expression, unnaturally forced upon your face. And as your eyes dart around the room, you try to bring your defenses back up, but as you look back at your brother you know that won't be happening anytime soon. You can feel your heart beating against your chest, seeking liberation from it's cage, as you ask, "What's wrong?" You know it's a stupid question given your current situation, but stupidity isn't easily stopped at four in the morning.

Your brother seems calmer now that you're awake. He backs up a bit and sits down on the floor. "What’s wrong?" he says, bewildered, concerned. "You're lying on the floor in fuckin' fetal position and you're asking me what's wrong? Scared me half to death, kid."

You look around the room again, as if only now realizing exactly what had happened. You look back at Bro again. He keeps staring at you, and you notice how unnerving it is, looking at him without your shades. You can't remember the last time you'd seen him without them.

Except...you can. He was dead then. Cold, and lifeless, bleeding out onto the hard dirt floor.

For a second you think your eyes are deceiving you. Because he looks as alive as ever now, looking at you intently, trying to understand what the hell is wrong with you because you are seeing dead people at the ungodly hour of three in the morning. You are Dave Strider, and you are loosing it.

Except he isn't dead and you aren't on LOHAC or LOFAF or Derse or Prospit or anywhere else. You are in your fucking room. At fucking four in the morning.

And he is fucking alive.

"The hell, Dave?" he prompts after several seconds pass by. You can see that you're scaring him a bit, or would, if he wasn't a Strider. "What the fuck is going on?"

Good question.

"I...Bro...what the hell?" is your incredible response.

"I don't fucking know. Why don't you fucking clue me in?" He is sarcastic, rolling his eyes, but there is a bit of an edge to his voice.

Slowly, still holding his gaze, you stand carefully, as if at any moment the floor will break apart and melt into the hot lava that you have grown so used to. "Dude…you're alive…"

Bro stands as well, unsure what to make of what you've just said. "Really," he tells you, increasing his sarcasm. "Fucking really? I had no idea, Dave. Thanks for waking me up to tell me that."

You're tone is somewhat accusatory when you tell him, "You we're dead! Noir killed you!" And there is a part of you that wants to tackle-hug your brother and another part of you that's wondering why he isn't tackle-hugging you. Because after all that's happened, after all this time, when you imagined finally seeing him again, you kinda thought maybe that would be how shit went down. And then you'd order pizza and he would beat you at some video games and everything would be normal again. Or at least as close to normal as things ever got around here. But there are no tackle-hugs. And there is no pizza, or video games, or even a whisper of normalcy. There is only you and your brother, staring at each other through the darkness. 

And as the moments tick by, you count every second until he finally says something.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You...you were dead. Noir killed you."

"Who the hell is Noir?"

And that is when it hits you. This is when your world officially crumbles into nothingness, long past the point of no return. Your brother honestly doesn't know what you're talking about when you say that he has been dead for the last three fucking years. And even though you know, you need to hear him say it. So you ask. You say to him, "You don't remember." And he looks at you blankly before rubbing his temples in a rare display of frustration.

"Look kid. You just had a bad dream or something. Go back to bed." He orders. And then he walks out the door, unnaturally quiet, unnaturally calm.

The door closes, and you are left feeling more alone then ever before. Because Bro doesn't remember. The whole time you had been playing the game, the weight of his death was heavy on your shoulders. And yeah, after you found his body, you were a little reckless, a little stupid. But when you finally started playing the game, playing for real, you played hard. You played by your own rules. You played to win. And all you could think about during all that time was what you wouldn't give to tell him that you were sorry for screwing up, sorry that he might have died because you weren't man enough to face reality. You couldn't tell him that through some twisted logic, through some twisted time loops, that his death might have been your fault. And now you could.

But it wouldn't mean anything.

Because he doesn't remember any of it.

And if he doesn't remember, what about John, and Jade, and Rose? What about their guardians? The Trolls? Did they remember?

Did they even exist?

Were you going insane?

No.

Because you refuse to think for even a second that everything you all had been through was nothing more than a dream.

Fuck no.

You frantically look around for something, anything, that can tell you that you are right, that you aren't going mad. Your eyes land on the one time table by the alarm clock. You give yourself half of a second to wonder where the other one is before you lunge for it, desperate to hold it in your hands. And soon it is in your possession, the cold vinyl a comfort to you. You hold it tightly, looking at it for a long time. You scratch the record repeatedly, wanting to hear the ticking of reality as time flies backwards. You want to feel the fabric of time as you tear it apart and put it back together again in a completely different way. But something is wrong. Nothing happens, no matter how viciously you scratch at it's surface.

It's just an ordinary record.


	2. Dave ==> Have a Mental Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try taking deep breaths, try to calm the fuck down, but it isn't working. Stuff like that has never worked before and you aren't sure why you thought it would work this time except dammit. Because you are Dave Strider and you'll do as you damn well please.

It's a long time before you're able to put down the record, and even longer before you're able to tear your gaze away from the clock. Time ticks by, in a slow, agonizing, torturous pace. The numbers on the clock change.

Tick...tock...tick...tock…

You are shaking by the time you go to your computer and boot it up. You try taking deep breaths, try to calm the fuck down, but it isn't working. Stuff like that has never worked before and you aren't sure why you thought it would work this time except dammit. Because you are Dave Strider and you'll do as you damn well please. 

– turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 4:27 –

TG: john  
TG: john  
TG: you there bro  
TG: you okay  
TG: you remember everything that went down right  
TG: john

– turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 4:36 – 

TG: jade  
TG: yo jade whats up  
TG: are you there  
TG: listen jade you gotta answer me  
TG: theres some weird shit going on  
TG: jade  
TG: please be there please be okay  
TG: are you okay  
TG: jade come on

turntechGodhead [TG] pegan pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 4:40 – 

TG: rose  
TG: rose come on you have to answer me  
TG: im freaking out here  
TG: i don't know whats going on  
TG: rose please please fucking please rose im begging  
TG: answer dammit  
TG: rose  
TG: john and jade aren't answering rose please  
TG: we gotta make sure theyre okay  
TG: i turned back time  
TG: and i have no idea what fucking happened  
TG: my time tables are gone and bro has no idea what happened  
TG: fuck rose

You feel like you are suffocating, slowly dying from the inside out. There is no answer.

You turn away from the computer and dash to the light switch. You flip on the lights and shove your shades over your eyes.

You then proceed to tear your room to shreds looking for some sort of evidence that the game had really happened. You unload your closet, dump everything onto the floor, look around your jars of preserved dead shit, under the bed, through the drawers of your desk. Twice, your brother yells at you to cut the noise, but you ignore him both times.

"It's gotta be here, there's gotta be something. Dammit, I did not just make this up." You keep muttering to yourself as you tear your room apart, checking pesterchum every two minutes. But you come up with nothing.

Eventually, Dirk comes back in, yelling at you to shut the hell up and get some goddamn sleep. But he stops mid sentence when he sees the state of your room. It takes him a moment to absorb the chaos. Your room was never 'clean' exactly, but you normally keep your stuff in their respective piles on the floor. But now your shit is everywhere. Fucking everywhere, everything, and you haven't found anything to prove to Bro - to prove to yourself - that you aren't stark raving mad.

"Dave. What. The fuck. Is going. On." His words are made of ice, cold and demanding. Any other day and you'd be trying to talk yourself out of this mess, but today, it's almost as if you hadn't heard him. Instead, you keep looking, mumbling to yourself, trying not to break down, trying to remember if you had anything left from the game. But all your records are normal, and all your katanas are shitty, and all you are accomplishing is nothing.

"Dave. Dave, goddammit." Dirk has forged a path through the mountain of crap. He is in front of you now, holding your wrists and forcing you to look him in the eye. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

And it's at this point that you can no longer squash the rising panic that's fogging your mind and threatening to choke you. This is where you loose it, where you know that you can't even try to pretend that something isn't wrong, horribly, irrevocably wrong. And you're not sure if its just you or if it's the rest of the world that's out of place, but both realities are equally terrifying. And a million thoughts are going through your head as you say to your brother, "No. No no no no no. You don't get it, you don't understand, you don't . Fuck, Bro. Fuck. Let go, let go!" You try to wrench your wrists out of his grasp, but instead he lets you go. You back away, looking everywhere, trying to take in every inch, every speck of dust in your room. There has to be something. There has to be something.

"Dave," he says cautiously, but you aren't listening. What can you use for proof? What might have been left behind?

You stand still for a moment, breathing hard as you run it through your head. Was there even the slightest possibility that all the shit on the roof, all the alchemizing equipment, might still be up there?

Hell, it was worth a shot. A long shot. A small, sad chance. But you are desperate. So you grasp the thought as you clench your fists, clinging to the thin air like your life depends on it. Because in your mind, it does.

And you race out of your room, leaving the door swinging in your wake and your brother staring at your silhouette in shock as his eyebrows knit together. A moment passes before he recovers, but when he does, he races after you, calling your name and yelling at you to stop, to come back. But fuck no, because you are already out of the apartment, racing to the door that leads to the stairwell, turning the nob, opening the door, taking the first few steps, almost tripping. Bro is right behind you, asking you what the goddam matter is, what the hell are you doing, and if you want to strife could you possibly do it at a less ungodly hour.

Another flight of stairs and the door to the roof comes into view. You reach out to turn it. And you can almost feel the fresh air and the moonlight on your face as you race up the steps.

Except you miss a step, one of the top ones. You loose your balance and fall, tumbling down. Bro yells your name, tries to stop your rapid descend as you struggle to slow yourself down. But gravity has other ideas. You tumble right past your brother, down, down, down, until you come to a painful, bone shattering stop on the next floor.

There was a sickening crack. There was a look of horror on Dirk's face. There was pain. And then there was nothing.


	3. Dave ==> Be the Other Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Except lately everything has been 'just a dream.' Or else it's been 'just a reality,' which is twice as worse on any given occasion. You can't really trust your surroundings now. Rose says it doesn't really matter anymore, since, through the game, dreams have become reality. She thinks you're paranoid. You just think you're being realistic.

Dave ==> Be the Other Dave

Your name is Dave Strider.

You prefer Davy. Bro calls you 'little man,' sometimes and you like that too. You also like apple juice. And watching TV and eating ice cream and playing video games, even though you aren't too good. Your bro is better. You hope to be just like him someday because he's good at video games. And he uses really cool swords and can eat an entire pizza by himself and he isn't afraid of the monsters that hide in your closet. Yeah, you love your bro.

That's why, when the nightmares come, you always run to Bro and tell him to chase the monsters away. Or else you ask him if you can sleep next to him. He normally says no. You lie down next to him anyway. You feel safe next to him. You know your big brother will protect you.

Then December comes. And with it, your birthday. You finally turn 6 and you get a cupcake with a candle in it and you play video games all day and you think your bro finally lets you win but that's okay  
because you don't mind and you won't tell anyone. Your birthday was the bestest birthday ever and when you go to sleep that night its with a smile on your face. 

Three days later, you have another nightmare. So when you wake up, you try to hold back tears as you run into the living room and nudge your bro. He's knocked out on the futon, snoring slightly. You nudge him a little more until he lazily opens his eyes, yawns, and says, “What, kid?” 

“Bro.” You say as you sniffle. “I had a nightmare. Can I sleep with you?” You rub a tear out of your eye.

Your brother looks a little more awake now. He looks at you, and a long time passes before he takes a big breath and lets it out slowly. 

“Look Dave, you gotta grow up now. You gotta learn to get rid of the monsters by yourself.”

“But -”

“Go to bed, Dave. It's time for you to be a man.”

“But...but...” you say, because you don't quite understand what he means.

“Holy shit, kid.” he says, and you cringe because you know shit is a bad word and you don't like it when your big brother uses bad words. “You don't need me to chase away the monsters. You gotta face them on your own.” He rolls over so his back faces you and the conversation supposedly ends there.

But you don't want to go bed, not when there are monsters in your closet.“But...but...” And this is when your lip trembles and your fragile, innocent heart breaks. This is when you start to break down and cry as you say, “I don't want to face the monsters.”

Bro's voice is mean, maybe the meanest you've ever heard him, when he says, “Go to fucking bed, Dave.” And you don't fight anymore because maybe you're a little bit afraid of him. So you hurry to your room and leave a little piece of your six-year-old heart to die on the floor among your teardrops.

Dave ==> Be the Other Dave. For real this time.

A crow calls out into the night as Dave Strider takes a tumble down the stairs.

And by Dave Strider, you mean you.

You see yourself fall down the stairs in a completely uncool, un-ironic display of clumsiness. You lay unmoving at the bottom, your neck set off at a sickening angle.

Dave Strider was dead.

\---

Your eyes snap open as you sit up. A gray darkness confronts you. A look to your left confirms that your neck is indeed working, a relief. Your internal clock tells you that it's a little after 6 in the morning. You stare at the window and look at the gray sky shining through the curtains as you urge your heart to stop its reckless beating. Another dream, you think to yourself. That's all it was. Just a dream.

Except lately everything has been 'just a dream.' Or else it's been 'just a reality,' which is twice as worse on any given occasion. You can't really trust your surroundings now. Rose says it doesn't really matter anymore, since, through the game, dreams have become reality. She thinks you're paranoid. You just think you're being realistic. 

Your name is Dave Strider.

You are 16 years old.

You mean 13.

You think.

You remember some things. You remember your dream, how you were freaking out about some sort of game, loosing your cool over a vinyl record and getting your neck snapped in half. But it was just a dream, and its not worth wasting another few seconds thinking about it. So you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand. You're in your room. There is a sort of heaviness in the air that you've come to associate with reality. It tethers you to the ground, prevents you from flying, from dreaming, from dying. You like it. 

And then the floodgates open and you remember. 

The game.

And then your mind is completely dominated by one thought and one thought only: _Holy fuck._

You bolt to your computer to turn it on and as you wait, you remember. You remember everything. Entering the medium, time traveling, getting yourselves blown up by the sun, all that shit. You remember the meteor, the Mayor, days and days and days of shitty chalk drawings. And when the days on the meteor finally came to an end, you met back up with John and Jade again. You met the younger versions of your guardians, learned about different versions of yourselves. You drew up battle plans to take down Jack and the Condense. And then...you...won?

It's strange...you can't remember how it ended.

This time, there's no panic attack. There's no mental breakdown. There's just you, swimming in an ocean of memories. Years worth. Because it was over now. 

Pesterchum loads. You realize that you lack the god tier ensemble you've been wearing as of late. In fact, you're not wearing any clothing at all, save your boxers. So you grab the nearest shirt, a familiar red and white long sleeved with a certain scratched record on the front, and slip it on. It's Tuesday. April 14, 2009. You're on Spring Break. And yesterday, you and your friends played a game that made you fucking gods. 

turntechGodhead [TG] pestered ectoBiologist [EB] at 6:14 –

TG: john hey  
TG: i know its really fucking early  
TG: just let me know when your up okay

turntechGodhead [TG] pestered gardenGnostic [GG] at 6:15 –

TG: hey jade  
TG: you okay  
TG: look i got to talk to you okay  
TG: get back to me when you can

turntechGodhead [TG] pestered tentacleTherapist [TT] at 6:15 – 

TG: rose  
TG: yo somethings up   
TG: i dont think were in kansas anymore  
TG: talk to me

You run through everything in your head while you get some jeans on. You have no idea what happened, but all in all, you think you're taking this remarkably well.

That is, until you remember your brother. And then you turn pale and there's a slight tremble of your hands as you run them through your hair. Because you're not really sure if you want to face Dirk right now after everything that's happened. And you catch yourself wondering if he remembers. You wonder if he knows that he's been dead for three years, if he remembers anything about the Alpha session. And then you start to wonder if he's even alive. Because you saw the sword that Noir forced through his chest, and you knelt in the scarlet blood from his body.

So after much debate and an entire half hour of pacing around your room, you grab your shades and ease the door open ever so slowly because gog does that thing creak. It's 6:49 when you poke your head out of the door and find your bro sprawled out on the futon, snoring. It's only then that your able to actually fucking breath again. Armed with the knowledge that he is very much alive, you sigh in relief and get back into your room. You don't want to wake him up now. You wouldn't know what to say. 

It's not like you need him to chase away the monsters, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so just in case it wasn't clear, the first two chapters were a dream, and the first part of this chapter was a sort of flashback. Also, I wanted to thank you all for the wonderful comments you left for me and asdfjkgfs LET ME LOVE YOU ALL!!!
> 
> Also I feel like I should probably give you a warning that in a few chapters, there's going to be some mentions of self harm and possibly other triggers. I'll put warnings up on the respective chapters.
> 
> Not every chapter will be from Dave's POV. I'm going to try to balance it out as much as I can. In fact the next chapter will be from either John or Jade. I chose Dave for the intro because I felt most comfortable writing from his point, especially since this is the first time I'm writing in second person. Originally it was going to be first and I wrote like 4 chapters that way before changing my mind a dozen times. This would have been up a lot sooner if I wasn't so indecisive about everything. Okay, I'm going to shut up now because you probably don't want to read all of this anyway but just THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READINGG!!!!


	4. John ==> Eat Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EB: what are you talking about?  
> EB: what's sburb?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I am really sorry this took me so long. These last few weeks have been a bit busy, and that combined with the fact that I cannot write John's POV for my life...yeah...so please accept this humble attempt while I go bury myself under a pillow fort out of shame.

Your name is John Egbert. Yesterday was your 13th birthday. You haven't felt the same since.

You feel a little empty inside. Like you've missed something. Something important.

Yesterday you stuffed yourself silly with birthday cake. You and your Dad watched all of your favorite Cage flicks. You opened your birthday presents and blew out thirteen candles, plus one for good luck. You turned thirteen. But no one had told you that thirteen would be so different from twelve. 

It's bright outside when you wake up. You can see from your window that the sky is a pure, brilliant blue. The house smells like baked goods and you briefly wonder what your Dad is making. There is cake in your room. It's everywhere, the walls, the floors, even the ceiling, and you have no idea how it happened. (Well, okay. Maybe the shenanigans had something to do with it.) There's a knife in your beloved movie poster. You aren't quite sure how that happened either. You'll have to fix it later.

You kick off the blue covers and stand up, stretching. You feel a little heavy, like something is weighing you down. Like the entire weight of the world is resting on your thirteen-year-old shoulders. You shrug, put your glasses on, and shuffle through the door. You walk down the stairs uneventfully, past Nana's urn of ashes, and into the kitchen.

You were not expecting the cookies.

There's probably a couple hundred of them, and they are everywhere. Your Dad is currently in the oven, peering at some more cookies.

"Uh...Dad?" you say, staring in awe in the doorway. You had never seen this many cookies in one kitchen before.

"Yes, son?" he answers, putting on an oven mitt. 

"What's with all the cookies?"

"That," he says, "is a very good question." He takes a cookie sheet out and puts another in. You shrug. You're Dad has never given you a good reason for his radical baking habits. You don't see why he would give you one now. At least they don't appear to be made from that Betty Crocker stuff. You take a chocolate chip cookie and scamper off before your Dad asks you to do the dishes.

Back in your room, you stuff the last crumbs of the cookie in your mouth and load Pesterchum. One of your chums has already left a message for you.

TG: john hey  
TG: i know its really fucking early  
TG: just let me know when your up okay

He was up early for a cool kid. You wonder what might have disturbed his sleep as you briefly type up a response.

EB: hi dave! what's up?

The response is almost immediate.

TG: john  
TG: good  
TG: okay  
TG: are you okay dude  
TG: is everything chill  
EB: well there's cake all over my room and a razor in my poster.  
EB: and my dad is baking a lot of cookies.  
TG: so everythings okay  
EG: well...yeah. why wouldn't it be?  
TG: i dont know man its not like we just played a 3 year long game in a day  
TG: or created a fucking universe  
TG: or die a couple times or anything  
TG: seriously man you okay  
EG: dave, is this more of your ironic babble?  
TG: what  
TG: no  
TG: the game egderp  
TG: sburb  
TG: you were waiting for it forever  
EB: what are you talking about?  
EB: what's sburb?

There's a moment before he replies.

TG: john  
TG: do me a favor  
TG: tell me your joking  
TG: tell me that this one of your shitty pranks  
EB: dave...what are you talking about? you're confusing me.  
TG: oh my gog john  
TG: stop being an imbecile and remember something  
TG: the windy thing  
TG: god tier  
TG: jack noir  
TG: anything  
EB: sorry, dave.  
EB: you're not really making any sense…  
TG: you dont remember  
TG: anything  
TG: anything at all  
EB: no  
EB: sorry dave  
TG: right  
TG: yeah  
TG: okay  
TG: i gotta go man  
TG: see you

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 9:20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going see if I can have the next chapter up within the hour and see if I can get another chapter in by the end of tomorrow. I'm really sorry guys!!!


	5. Jade ==> Feed Bec

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TG: oh gog no  
> TG: hell fucking no  
> TG: not you too

Jade ==> Feed Bec

You have the pleasure of waking up to something wet and rough pressing against your face. The something barks excitedly, and in another moment you know that it's your loyal friend, Bec. 

You wipe the doggy slobber off your face and glasses as Bec barks again and chases his tail. You smile and rush over to help him catch it, and when you both fail, you give him a big doggy hug and scratch him behind the ears just the way he likes it. 

You're outside. It's nice out. Bright and sunny, with a few of those high, feathery clouds, as if some hand greater than your own had dipped a paintbrush in white and dragged it across the sky. It’s a little windy, warm, but not terribly humid. From the position of the sun you guess it's late in the morning, 9 or 10 o'clock. But then again, time isn't your thing, and you know Dave would have a more precise estimate because...well, because…

You're not really sure why you think that. 

You think a lot of things that are weird. You dream about a lot of weird things too. You guess it's just something you're good at, and with no one around to tell you that you're wrong, you've learned to embrace it.

But even you have to admit when things get too weird. Like now. Because instead of sleeping in your nice, cozy bed, you're out in the middle of the jungle.

You are Jade Harley, and you have no idea how you've gotten here.

You suppose Bec might have been feeling mischievous. Or maybe you were sleepwalking again. You'd have to check on your dream bot. 

Bec is tugging at your skirt now, asking you to get a move on. He probably wants to play fetch, or else he's hungry and wants food. So you stand up and dust the dirt off of your skirt before picking up your gun and heading back to your house. Bec doesn't leave your side, not even after you irradiate his steak and turn on your laptop.

turntechGodhead [TG] pestered gardenGnostic [GG] at 6:15 –

TG: hey jade  
TG: you okay  
TG: look i got to talk to you okay  
TG: get back to me when you can

It looks like your friend tried to contact you a few hours ago. You aren't really sure what to make of these messages, but you feel bad for making him wait so long. So you quickly type up a message.

GG: hi dave!!!  
GG: whats wrong??? you sound upset :x  
GG: is everything ok?

You weren't expecting him to reply so quickly.

TG: jade  
TG: thank gog  
TG: are you okay  
GG: of course im ok….why?  
GG: whats wrong?  
TG: oh gog no  
TG: hell fucking no  
TG: not you too  
GG: dave…  
GG: you aren't making any sense  
TG: the game harley  
TG: tell me you remember  
GG: dave? are you okay?  
TG: tell me you fucking remember  
GG: what are you talking about? 

A few moments pass before he answers you again. 

TG: today is april 14  
TG: yesterday was april 13  
TG: 413  
TG: we played a game  
TG: that ruined our lives for the last three years  
TG: please tell me some of thats ringing a bell  
GG: dave im really sorry but that doesnt make any sense!!!  
GG: i dont remember playing any games  
GG: and even if i did how could it ruin three years if we only played it yesterday???  
TG: look theres a lot of time shit okay  
TG: just think  
TG: really hard  
TG: jade you have to remember  
TG: sburb  
TG: the beta  
TG: the alpha  
TG: please  
GG: sorry dave :/  
GG: i dont remember anything  
GG: maybe you were dreaming it???

You are just about to ask him once more if he's okay when a notification pops up at the bottom of your screen.

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 9:42


	6. Rose ==> Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are unable to dissect what exactly your feelings are as you see her passed out on the floor, an empty bottle of rum next to her limp hand.

Being a Seer, you have no problem remembering the game. The memories come as soon as you open your eyes. You sit up and stare into space for a few moments, reminiscing as you wrap the orange covers around yourself. The peaceful sound of rain pierces the otherwise soundless room as you ponder all that had happened. Highly improbable as it seems, it appeared as though you and your companions had traveled to another planetary system to defeat a black demon, and in turn, save your world.

You shed the orange covers and rise, any remaining dregs of sleep vanishing from your eyes. You briefly wonder if there was a chance you had dreamed all of this up, but you know that is impossible. Not even your subconscious could weave a tale such as this one.

Your first thought is to power up your laptop and see what your counterparts had to make of this situation. But then thoughts of your mother force their way into your mind, and you know you are obligated to see if there is even a trace of her around the mansion. You leave your room and walk silently down the hall, knowing well that there was no need to be quiet, but unable to shake your sneaky manor. At the end of the hallway, her bedroom door was left a jar. You let yourself in, still almost unnaturally quiet.

You are unable to dissect what exactly your feelings are as you see her passed out on the floor, an empty bottle of rum next to her limp hand. For a moment, there is only alarm before you see the subtle rising and falling of her chest that signified life within her intoxicating body. After that, relief comes like a slowly blooming flower, and you are calm.

Your mother is not dead.

This is good news.

You admit to feeling a sense of detachment. There had always been, ever since the passive-aggressive battles had started. Maybe even well before that. Of course you are glad that your mother is alive. It means you will avoid the flaws of the foster care system, and she will drink herself into oblivion. Just like it had always been.

And yet, is there really a chance that you could be so heartless? Of course you're glad your mother is alive.

Of course you are.

You leave her there on the floor. There would be no point in waking her. She'd come to when she was ready. So you slip out the door and head back toward your room. Scenes from the game run through your head, and, try as you might, you can't figure out how you and your mother ended up back in the mansion, safe in New York instead of on another planet with an absurd name. Nor can you fathom why you were no longer in your god tier garments, but in the simple clothes you wore before all of this began. The mysteries surround you….

The soft patter of the rain continues to be the only sound discernable to your ears as you sit on the floor next to your laptop. You could have sworn you had left it elsewhere, and in the life that came before the one you are living, that might have surprised you. The computer screen lights up as you hit the on button, then promptly shuts off. Out of battery. Shame. You scan your room in search of a power cord, and upon finding one, you plug it into the wall. You decide to leave it be for now. Messaging your co-players would have to wait. Instead, you slip a pair of shoes on and tiptoe down the stairs and through the door into the soft, misting rain. The water feels cool on your skin, gentle and soothing, as you make your way to the Mausoleum. You are not shocked to find the coffin knocked over and the stuffed cat gone. You are somewhat surprised to see the passage way to the Skianet Laboratory. But you are pleased. It has confirmed what you already known. 

The game had happened.


	7. Dave ==> Look for Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But one of your friends has yet to respond, and you are holding on to that silly little thing called hope as if it were a life line, because in each and every way, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. It's been almost a year since I posted. I'm really sorry. Here's some Dave to make it up to you.

A few hours pass. You spend them pacing your room. Once, you venture outside to get some apple juice. Your bro is still knocked out on the futon when you return to your room. You stand by the window and watch the sun illuminate the sky in a world you thought was long dead. It's a bit disturbing, almost as if you were just another doomed timeline in a dead world that didn't really exist.

You almost think your ears are deceiving you when finally, hours later, you hear the ping that announces a new message from Pesterchum. You rush over and try to relax as you reply to John.

_He's alive._

TG: john  
TG: good  
TG: okay  
TG: are you okay dude  
TG: is everything chill  
EB: well there's cake all over my room and a razor in my poster.  
EB: and my dad is baking a lot of cookies.  
TG: so everythings okay  
EG: well...yeah. why wouldn't it be?  
TG: i dont know man its not like we just played a 3 year long game in a day  
TG: or created a fucking universe  
TG: or died a couple times or anything  
TG: seriously man you okay  
EG: dave, is this more of your ironic babble?  
TG: what  
TG: no  
TG: the game egderp  
TG: sburb  
TG: you were waiting for it forever  
EB: what are you talking about?  
EB: what's sburb?

And the jigsaw puzzle that was slowly coming together into your mind shatters into a thousand pieces. 

He doesn't remember.

The rest of the conversation is a blur. You try to jog his memory. You fail. And then you end the conversation because you aren't sure how to talk to a John that doesn't remember the game. Because he isn't your John and you aren't his Dave. 

Instead you wait for Jade to reply. You sit at the computer and stare in silence as you wait for what seems like hours but is really less than 20 minutes.

GG: hi dave!!!  
GG: whats wrong??? you sound upset :x  
GG: is everything ok?

You ask her if she's okay. You ask her if she remembers. 

She doesn't.

You think about shutting down your computer and going back to bed, that maybe when you wake up this will all be a horrible, half-remembered dream. But one of your friends has yet to respond, and you are holding on to that silly little thing called hope as if it were a life line, because in each and every way, it was. You briefly wonder if you are waiting in vain, then quickly shut that line of thinking down before it leads to something more dangerous.

_C'mon Lalonde. Where are you?_

There is no answer, and it doesn't surprise you. But you don't need this right now. You don't need the infinite amount of thoughts running through your brain and you sure as hell don't need the what ifs. What you need are answers. 

And so you spend the rest of the morning combing through search engine after search engine in an attempt to find something about Sburb, Skia, and Betty Crocker conspiracies. When you turn up empty, you try pestering Karkat, Terezi, the other trolls. No one answers. 

It's nearly noon by the time you hear Dirk stir. He probably had a gig late last night, probably has another tonight, and so it seems likely that between that and getting a somewhat decent amount of sleep, he didn't have much time to be dead, and so he must be alive. 

Time. What a funny concept.

You run everything through your head a few more times, but the thinking is exhausting you. So instead of waiting around for nothing, you walk out of your bedroom.

You find him in the kitchen, looking in the fridge for the cold pizza that would pass for his breakfast. His hands find the box quickly without disturbing the numerous traps laid there for you. 

"Bro?"

He glances back and acknowledges you with a curt nod, then goes back to his task.

You aren't really sure how to say this, not sure if there really is a way to say this or what exactly it is that you're asking. It's not like they write a manual for these sort of things and it's not like you ever found a way to easily communicate with Bro, at least not on your terms.

"Bro…" you try again, but the question you aren't sure how to ask dies in your throat. 

He's sitting down and has his full attention on his meal, but he spares a moment to look up at you. "Well?" He says, one eyebrow raised, making a nice arch above his shades. "Spit it out, kid."

"I…" you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. And then you blurt out, "Where was I yesterday?"

Your brother freezes, pizza halfway in his mouth. He tilts his head slightly before dropping the slice and looking directly at you. "What?" You aren't sure how to read his tone and you're never sure how to read his expression.

So your reply is careful. "I was just wondering if you knew. Where I was yesterday, I mean."

He looks you up and down, and you are careful to keep your face blank and your posture relaxed. He stands and walks around the table so there's nothing but cold, empty space between you. You aren't quite sure, but you think you see his jaw tighten a bit, his eyebrows knit ever so slightly together, but in a second and a half it's gone, like an illusion, a mirage in the hottest of desserts. 

"You were in your room," He says stiffly. "Just like you always are."

He watches you intensely, but you can tell he's trying to hide it, which makes it all the more terrifying. You know he wants you to leave now, but you have to try once more. So you pick your words more carefully this time and pray for the answer that you want.

"Was there a package that came in for me yesterday?" _The game. I want to know about the game._

He doesn't move a muscle, doesn't shift a bit, and his voice is dead when he answers, "No." Then he turns around heads back to the take-out box, and just like that, conversation over.

You fight against the disappointment as you head back to your room, but it threatens to overwhelm you anyway. You breathe in and out and wonder if the air that surrounds you is anything more than a lie or if it is really, truly tangible. Because you know you're awake, but you'd give anything to be dreaming right now.

That is, until you see the purple font blinking on your computer screen.

TT: I think we have a lot to talk about.  
TT: It seems as though after we won the game we were deposited back in our old world and our old timeline. Perhaps we are allowed to continue on with the life we thought we had lost.  
TT: Either way, it seems as though any trace of the game has been wiped from this timeline. Several internet searches have come up with nothing, and I still can't find my copy of the game.  
TT: However, the Skianet Laboratory is still structurally sound, as far as I could tell.  
TT: I didn't venture too far as I wasn't quite prepared to explore, though I guess you could say I wasn't any worse off than I was the first time I walked through it. Also, I wanted to make sure you, John, and Jade were alright.  
TT: I'm fine, in case you're wondering. So is my mother.  
TT: Or...Roxy, I suppose. 

You think that if she were here, you might just kiss her out of relief. You mean, if that wasn't a completely unironic, uncool thing to do.

TT: Oh, and I still have my Godtier powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...yeah it's been over a year since I've posted and I only got caught up on the comic today. So I thought, why not? And wrote another chapter.  
> Also I'm going to casually pretend that I remember where I was going with this plot, and if something doesn't fit in light of the updates since last year, then I'll make it fit. Or pretend it fits. Whatever works.  
> Also if you actually came back to read this from a year ago then bless your soul.  
> I'll just sit in the corner and pretend that a year isn't really that long.


	8. Jade ==> Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EB: Hmmmmmmmm…  
> GG: Hmmmmmmmm???  
> EB: Hmmmmmmmm!!!
> 
> That's it that's the whole chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prospit pesterlogs are painful to put on paper...  
> But have some anyway.

Your name is Jade Harley and you are hopelessly confused. 

For one thing, you almost stepped on a frog on the way to your room. For another, your dreambot is broken beyond repair.

You wonder how you'll get to sleep now and if this will worsen your narcolepsy in any way. You also wonder how you'll ever manage to get by without being able to record your dreams. You are very curious as to how your dreambot manage to explode. You have no recollection of it happening and no idea what could have caused it. If only you could bend time and space to see what happened.

Bend space? No, what are you thinking? You're just being silly.

Bec stays by your side as you tend to your lovely plants. He seems rather interested in some pumpkins you have sitting on the floor. You feel like the most logical thing to say next would be, 'what pumpkin?' but that would be silly since they inches from your feet. 

As you tend your garden, you think about your chat with Dave. What exactly did he mean about the game? Do the others know what he's talking about?

So an hour later, when you find yourself back in your room, you pester Dave to make sure he's okay. When he doesn't answer, you pester John.

 

gardenGnostic [GG] pestered ectoBiologist [EB] at 10:16

GG: hi john :)  
GG: how did your birthday go??  
EB: really great! i got a whole bunch of cool stuff  
EB: plus i watched a bunch of nick cage flicks  
GG: no way!!!  
EB: yes! it was the best!  
GG: and im sure con air was one of them?  
EB: a birthday without the heartfelt reunion of father and daughter would be no birthday of mine!  
GG: no sir!  
EB: also there was a lot of cake...

You get so wrapped up in John's birthday shenanigans that you almost forget about your encounter with Dave.

GG: :o i almost forgot  
GG: you didn't happen to converse with your chum dave today did you???  
EB: in fact i did converse with my chum today!  
EB: why do you ask?  
GG: oh nothing...its just that he seemed a bit…  
GG: frazzled!  
EB: frazzled? Like making up stuff about yesterday?  
GG: precisely!   
EB: then yes, i think he was frazzled too!  
GG: oh no! :o  
GG: we must do something to unfrazzle our frazzled chum!  
EB: i don't think there's anything to unfrazzle about  
EB: probably just had a bad dream or something...  
EB: or maybe he was trying out a new rap!  
GG: i don't know john :/  
GG: it didn’t seem rappy enough to be a rap….  
EB: Hmmmmmmmm…  
GG: Hmmmmmmmm???  
EB: Hmmmmmmmm!!!  
EB: oh no!  
GG: what???  
EB: nothing...it's just my dad is making a lot of cookies and i think he might have accidently burnt some?  
EB: the smoke alarm just went off.  
GG: :P you should probably check on that  
EB: yeah, might be a good idea……..  
EB: good luck unfrazzling our frazzled chum  
EB: let me know if you need a partner in crime!  
GG: i most certainly will!

gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 11:34

You aren't quite sure how you will go about unfrazzling Dave, but you do know that it would be a whole lot easier if he would actually answer you. Until then, you do what you would normally do on a sunny day like today and take a walk. Bec goes with you. You have a feeling that today will be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some actual plot development Dave and Rose chats should be coming up soon. Lets see if I'm better with their dialogue??  
> And as always, if you've stuck with it up to this point, you have my thanks.


	9. Rose ==> See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But knowing this, knowing that it was real, despite what this world wants you to think, can not compete with the desolate feeling of not knowing how it ended and how you ended up back in the beginning.

You spend the day exploring your house and the surrounding grounds. You can find no other evidence of the game. Your hastily typed FAQ page on Sburb has been wiped from the internet, and every search term you can think to enter into Google comes up with unrelated websites. The world is telling you that the game doesn't exist. 

But you know better.

The underground laboratory is not enough for you, which is why it is fortunate that you can see beyond the façade of this earth. You know the truth, and knowing is enough because it has to be, because there is no step ahead of knowing. There is a step behind, and that is called faith, and you have no use for it right now because you have all of the knowledge you could possibly want. It's transparent to you, even in the darkest of corners. 

This is how you know you still have your powers. 

TG: rose no  
TG: don’t go down that skianet thing  
TG: that place was sketchy to begin with  
TG: like more sketchy than my last art project and believe me  
TG: that piece of shit was sketchy in the most literal way

_Same old Strider,_ you think to yourself, and you smirk as you add a touch of traditional Lalonde sarcasm. 

TT: Your puns are amusing as ever. At the very least, we can say that our change in surroundings didn't effect your stunning sense of humor.  
TT: Moving forward from this shocking revelation, I think we all seem to be in tact. Am I correct in assuming that you've retained your memoires of our time spent with Sburb?  
TG: hell yeah  
TG: john and jade cant remember anything though  
TG: and what the fuck do you mean you still have your powers  
TG: did you wake up in your fancy ass godtier pjs too  
TT: I mean that as a result of my Seer abilities, I...uh...see.  
TT: As for my robes, they are nowhere to be found.  
TG: so the seer cant see her robes  
TG: hows that for shocking revelation  
TG: its probably better like that anyway  
TG: my hood was fucking ridiculous dont even pretend it wasn’t  
TT: I would think at that level of outlandishness you would have found it...ironic?  
TT: Or has that game finally gotten old?  
TG: no lalonde  
TG: this is not an opportunity for you to do that psyco shit on me  
TG: seriously what do you mean you have your powers  
TG: isnt that impossible according to all the laws and physics  
TG: you know like the ones that exist purely to screw me over on my science tests  
TG: those ones  
TT: Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.  
TT: -Arthur Conan Doyle  
TG: no shit sherlock  
TG: but seriously what about these powers  
TG: are you saying you can use your crystal ball voodoo shit to spy on me  
TT: No, I can't seem to find that either.  
TT: It looks like a lot of the items we created vanished in our transition back to our original timeline.  
TG: you mean after we won the game  
TG: so we don’t get to keep all the cool shit we made  
TG: fuck that  
TT: 'Won the game.'  
TT: What do you mean by that?  
TG: well you know  
TG: once we defeated jack and lord e and stuff  
TG: right?  
TT: That's the thing.  
TT: I can't remember.  
TG: fuck good i thought it was just me  
TT: So you're suffering from memory loss as well?  
TG: didnt i just say that  
TT: Do you also have your Godtier powers?  
TG: fuck no i cant time travel  
TT: Actually, I'm asking as a courtesy. I already know you have your powers.  
TT: And you used them. Recently.  
TG: what  
TG: no  
TG: what?  
TT: There's a...gap of sorts in the timeline. It may very well be caused by our sudden appearance, but I think it's more than that.  
TG: so youre saying i time traveled  
TG: how is that even possible when i don’t have my timetables  
TG: or the cadlescratch  
TG: or any of the shit we created in the medium  
TT: I'm not sure. Like I said, we have a lot to talk about.  
TT: As a result of my powers I...know certain things. I'm not sure how else to explain it, except in terms of my title, the Seer of Light.  
TT: Light, in this case, being knowledge.  
TT: But the end of the game is still obscured to me.  
TT: And there is still some mystery attached to how we came back.  
TG: mystery what mystery  
TG: we beat the game and time shenanigans happened  
TG: there you go mystery solved thanks to you meddling kids and that dumb dog  
TT: Scooby-Doo was hardly a 'dumb dog.'  
TT: He accomplished great feats, fueled only by the occasional Scooby-Snack.  
TG: do you ever look back on our conversations and wonder what kind of crack were on  
TG: because fuck me over with a badly costumed villain if i am not doing that right now  
TT: Cute.  
TG: don't insult me  
TG: i am motherfucking adorable and i will accept nothing less  
TT: Apologia.  
TG: of course  
TG: so anyway  
TG: you saw the skianet lab  
TG: and you can see knowledge  
TG: and oh yeah  
TG: the fucking game actually happened  
TT: Indeed.  
TG: no but I need you to say it  
TG: say the game happened

_How grim it must be,_ you think, _to have to rely on others for reassurance rather than your own knowledge._ You are glad to have left that part of humanity behind.

TT: Is this a glimmer of insecurity that I'm sensing? Or perhaps a lack on conviction?  
TT: Are you unsure of your memories, your thoughts, the very conversation you are currently having?  
TG: Lalonde.  
TT: Very well.  
TT: The game was real.

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 12:57

You suppose that you should feel satisfied with yourself. The game happened. You are sure of it. But knowing this, knowing that it was real, despite what this world wants you to think, can not compete with the desolate feeling of not knowing how it ended and how you ended up back in the beginning. It is a mystery to you, opaque in more ways than one, and your light is not enough to penetrate it. You can feel the emptiness, the hollow questions throbbing in your mind. You need to know. You _need_ to know.

And know you shall, in due time, in due space, and in every breath of your body. You will know. You'll have to know, or it will slowly kill you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hum dee dum hey thanks for reading. Hope this was worth the wait.


	10. John ==> Find the Fire Extinguisher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those dastardly cookies!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks so much for the reads!  
> This is just a cute little chapter. I wanted to get something up before I leave for vacation. I'll be gone for most of July so I really wouldn't expect something until August. I miiiight be able to put something up but don't keep your hopes up.  
> Happy Independence day to all my American readers and have a good month!

You don't jump up immediately when you hear the smoke alarm. Well, you jump, but only in surprise. You don't actually leave your room until you finish your conversation with Jade.

"Dad?" you call out as you shuffle down the stairs. There's a light cloud of smoke that veils the kitchen door. When you push your way through, you find a fire in the oven. Your Dad is hovering over it, trying to wave the fire away, to no avail. Those dastardly cookies!

You rush to the cabinet under the kitchen sink and reach for the fire extinguisher, only to find that it isn't there. "Where's the fire extinguisher?" You yell over the alarm. He shrugs in answer and continues waving away at the burning cookies with a dish towel. 

You slap your hand to your face in frustration. Why would the fire extinguisher be missing, and how will you clean up this mess without it?

It suddenly occurs to you to do the windy thing. You have no idea what that means.

You are wasting time.

Instead, you rummage through the kitchen cabinets, knocking dozens and dozens of cookies off of the countertop as you do so. When you don't find it, you decide the best course of action would be to check the garage for the spare one. You run through the house and into the garage, finding the extinguisher easily. You have a sudden urge to check the mail, but no, that would be a silly waste of time.

Instead, you run back to the kitchen, pull the pin, aim the nozzle, and squeeze the lever, sweeping from side to side. Your Dad laments his ruined cookies as you put the fire extinguisher down, slightly out of breath. And then he turns to you.

"I am so, so proud of you, son."

He then wraps you in a manly, fatherly hug.

You feel like you haven't been hugged by your father in ages, so you enjoy the moment without any question.


	11. Jade ==> Contract Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TT: Any strange occurrences to report?  
> GG: :o and usually im the one that seems to know everything in an unreasonably omnipotent way!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Australia was wonderful. School is the usual crapfest. Have a poorly written fic.

You watch Bec meander through the forest, exploring, but never wandering too far away from you. You are always in his sights. If is a comfort to you, but also a bit puzzling and unnerving, and suddenly, despite the gun on your shoulder and the beast at your feet, you don't feel safe.

The moment washes over you as quickly as it rolled in. Don't be silly. You're fine. Of course you are. And it really is beautiful outside. You've always enjoyed your afternoon strolls around the island and the way the air fills your lungs and refreshes you. But you aren't out for a leisurely stroll. You're searching for the place where you woke up this morning.

The alarm from your laptop distracts you from your search. 

Bec watches you as you sit down beneath the shade of the trees and open your lunchtop. 

tentacleTherapist began pestering gardenGnostic

TT: Hello, Jade.  
TT: I trust you're having a wonderful afternoon.  
GG: hi rose!  
GG: its really nice out here. Perfect weather for taking a walk.  
TT: I hope I'm not interrupting you. It feels as though it has been ages since we've last spoken. I wanted to make sure all was well with you.  
GG: im fine, thanks rose! :D  
GG: howre you?  
TT: Are you sure? Any strange occurrences to report?  
GG: :o and usually im the one that seems to know everything in an unreasonably omnipotent way!!  
GG: how did you know?  
TT: I looked into my crystal ball.  
GG: youre so funny rose!! i didnt know you had a crystal ball.  
TT: Well, technically speaking, I don't anymore. Now, what of these strange occurrences?   
GG: Welllll…  
GG: this morning I woke up in the middle of the woods and I don’t remember how I got there  
GG: which isnt too unusual for me  
GG: but then I found out that my dreambot exploded!!!   
TT: I see….  
TT: Figuratively, of course.  
TT: Can you recall what you were doing prior to passing out?  
GG: now that you mention it  
GG: I cant remember! :o  
TT: Nothing? Nothing at all?  
GG: not one thing!

This sudden revelation unsettles you. You skim your memories to see if anything useful comes up. Nothing does. Bec has padded over to you and is presently curled up at your side, tail wagging lazily. You look at him, and he looks back at you. 

"What happened, Bec?"

He stretches up to lick your cheek, and you place a light kiss on his nose in return. But he doesn't have an answer for you. 

TT: Interesting…can you remember what you were doing yesterday?

You remember doing a lot of dreaming, sleeping at random times throughout the day. You remember playing with Bec, walking around the island, chatting with your friends. It was John's Birthday yesterday. You remember that much. But nothing more.

You start to type out a reply to tell her what you know, but Bec nudges your laptop shut.

"Hey! No, bad Bec!" You try to boot it up again, but Bec has pulled it away from you. When you try to get it back, he growls.

"Bec! Stop! Give it back." 

He doesn't listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 12 and 13 are written and should/may be put up by Monday. Maybe by the end of tonight. No promises, I'm notoriously lazy.


	12. Dave ==> Acquire Apple Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's there and he's alive but he would burn you if he saw you shaking at the sight of your own blood.

TT: I'm afraid my probing might have frightened her. She didn't even bid a farewell before logging off.  
TG: nice going rose  
TG: Probably sent her spiraling into madness  
TG: fuck were you thinking?  
TG: if she didn’t remember when I asked her why would she tell you any different  
TT: It wasn't the fact that you asked her, but the way in which you did. I simply thought that if I approached it differently, I might get a different result.   
TT: Perhaps I was mistaken...  
TT: I'll try again with John.

You don't bother answering her. You don't have a clever quip at the ready and you're not in the mood to think of one. You don't feel like dealing with her psychoshit anyway.

You make a mental note to check back shortly. You won't be gone long. Just going to the kitchen.

It takes an enormous amount of effort for you to leave your room, more than usual, and you think that if you were Rose, that would worry you. But you are Dave Strider, and you can't be bothered to care.

The carpeted floors creak under your weight as you trudge to the kitchen. Some apple juice would be nice right now, maybe some shitty Hot Pockets. You haven't had Hot Pockets in ages…

He's there, in the Kitchen, staring intently at his plate while he shoves the last of his pizza down his throat. You wonder how much he's had, or how long he's been eating. It's been an hour since you left him here, maybe longer. Maybe this is all some ruse to keep you on your toes. Maybe he was hungry. You don't know. You never know. You're done trying to figure it out.

He's here. That's what matters.

Somewhere along your train of thoughts, you've stopped walking. Juice. Hot pockets. Right.

He doesn't move as you walk by, doesn't say anything. Neither do you. His back is towards you as you open the fridge. You aren't surprised to see the sharp objects, many of which do not belong in a refrigerator. Normally, around this time, the annoyance would radiate off of you as you wonder what the fuck kind of older brother would set so many traps in an place that could easily hurt you. This time, however, you're grateful for it. It's familiar, it's comforting, and it reeks of your older brother. It's reality.

_Don't let this be a dream._

You lose yourself to your thoughts as you reach in, grasp the neck of the bottle, and try to pull it out. Damned thing is stuck. You give it another tug, and wince as you see the swords sliding from the fridge and clattering on the floor, followed by a sharp, stinging pain in your arm. _"Fuck."_

The whispered words escape your mouth before you can stop it. "Shit, shit, _shit_." You've stopped moving, the air from the fridge chilling your body and freezing you in place, along with the swords, the juice, and the blood. "Fuck." There's a small knife digging into your skin, one you didn't see before. Your forearm is pinning more swords down. You aren't sure which is more important. But you see your hand, your blood, hopelessly dripping onto the Chinese take-out from God knows when. Quickly, you glance behind you to look at your Bro, prepared to face utter humiliation, or maybe a strife battle to punish you for your clumsiness. The fridge light illuminates his still form in the otherwise dark room. He says nothing. He does nothing. The only sound is your deep, edgy breathing.

You turn back to the situation at hand and try to calm yourself. You use your other arm to hold the swords in place and withdraw the juice. The knife digs further into your hand before snagging on something else - an empty pizza box. Mercifully, the pocket knife lets go of you, and you celebrate your freedom by loading the fallen katanas back inside.

And then you look down at your hand and your breath hitches in the back of your throat.

You understand fully that you cannot freak out right now. Your brother is only feet away from you. He's there and he's alive but he would burn you if he saw you shaking at the sight of your own blood. He would use you as a God damned punching bag if he knew that the memories of your former dead selves sparked tears behind your eyelashes. _Don't think about it._

But you do. You do think about it as you grab a glass and pour the juice as fast as possible. You think about it as you hastily put the bottle back in the fridge and slam the door before any more swords can fall out. You think about it as the sound of your dripping blood fills your ears and the scarlet substance splatters in little drops on the carpet. You get your ass out of there, moving as fast as you can without seeming suspicious. Surely he is watching you, eyes grazing over your arm tucked snuggly at your side, taking in your bloodied hand held out in front of you.

He says nothing as you cut your way through the darkness, into your room, and use your foot to swing the door closed behind you. Nothing ever sounded so sweet.

You sink to your knees and lean against your door as you cradle your hand to your chest and try to remember how to breathe, try to understand why your eyes are glued to the water stains on the ceiling above you. _Shit, shit, shit...._

That is when you discover that there is something terribly, terribly wrong with you.  


	13. Bro ==> Finish Cold Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're pretty sure that there's nothing buried into your chest. You're pretty sure you're not dead.

You run your hands through your hair, across your face, down your neck, your chest. You pause at your rib cage, glancing quickly at the kid's door to make sure it's closed, to make sure he's not here, staring, demanding answers from you.

You don't have the answers. You never did.

Your hands inch up, hovering over your heart. Breathing in, out, in, out, making sure it still works, it's still beating, you're still alive.

God…

Your hands return to your hair, massaging your scalp. You lean on your elbows and try desperately not to think about it. Suddenly, it's difficult to breathe, painful even. "C'mon, Strider." You tell yourself. "You're better than this." You have to be. You're not the only one you have to think about.

Your eyes drift over to his door again. You hope it won't open. You might even have prayed, but that wasn't your style, and you're all about style. You have an image to keep up.

In and out. In and out.

You're pretty sure you're okay now. You're pretty sure that there's nothing buried into your chest. You're pretty sure you're not dead. Dave's not dead. Cal is here, and your less than shitty swords and smut puppets. This is the real world. You aren't dead.

The doorknob jiggles. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit." Quick as lightning, you compose yourself, shove your shades on your face, and stuff the last of the cold pizza crust into your mouth. You watch him from the safety of your shades, moving quietly, as if you wouldn't notice him. Amateur. 

You expect him to say something. Maybe ask about yesterday again, try and draw the information out of you like a goddamned interrogator. He won't get far. You know all of his tricks, inside and out, because at the very base of it, they aren't his tricks. They're yours.

You stay very still as he takes his fucking time walking over to the kitchen. You expect a timid, "Bro?" and you're slightly surprised, (and very relieved), when he shuffles behind you to the fridge without so much as a word. You don't turn your head to watch. Instead, you listen. The sound of the fridge door opening. Hesitation. Careful consideration. Location of the Apple Juice found. Clashing metal (Dammit, you should have taken those katanas out). A string of whispered curses. Heavy, panicked breathing. The creaking of the floor as his weight shifts to glance at you, see if you noticed. The clock ticks seven times, tensely. The door closes. Light footsteps to the cabinets. Open, take a glass, shut. Pour the juice. Put it back. Don't disturb the knives. Walk away.

He's in your field of vision again, walking back to his room, a tall glass of juice in one hand, drips of blood on the other. He closes his bedroom door. You think you hear it lock behind him. 

And then you exhale and release your death grip on the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress for the next chapter is uncertain. Not setting any deadlines, but I will try to get it up soon.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	14. Roxy ==> Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't want this face or this body because they are that of what you imagined your own mother to be and it crushes something inside you beyond recognition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been awhile.

There is something deliriously wonderful about being able to pass out without a care as to where you are or who will see you. There is something much less wonderful about waking up without knowing where you will be and who will be with you.

You don't need to open your eyes to know that the world has been set off at an unwelcoming angle. You feel it in your bones, in the imprint that the rough carpet is making against your cheek, in the smooth glass held loosely between your fingers. But you open your eyes anyway, and do your best to sort through the overload of stimuli as it scorches your retinas. Upon further examination, you discover that it's not the world that's crooked. It's you, your neck, your body, your mind, and you are quite certain that the knots in your shoulders will not go away for a very long time.

You're stiff from lying in the same position for God knows how long. Your body protests and you struggle to sit up and brush your hair from your face. Maybe it's time to take up yoga. You've been promising yourself that you'd try it out for years. You could search for some videos online, maybe see if Jane could dig anything up for you on the subject.

In a moment, you're standing, making the executive decision to leave the empty glass and bottle for later, because if you bend down now, you're quite certain that you will never get back up.

But when you turn to the mirror to see just how dark the circles under your eyes have gotten, you remember.

Oh.

_Oh._

Shock. It's the first emotion that you can name, and it passes quickly. The game ended. You are quick to ponder and dismiss this fact. Instead, you find yourself enamored with your reflection, captivated by the ways you have grown, the ways you have stayed the same. Is that really your face underneath the stale creams and powders and lipstick? You hope not.

Because you are gorgeous in all of the right ways. You have the face of a mother, kind and gentle and stern and wise. Your eyebrows are plucked to perfection. Your cheekbones are angular but your cheeks are plump and rosy and your lips are full. You're beautiful. You are a vision of perfection but no, please, no,  you don't want this. You don't want this face or this body because they are that of what you imagined your own mother to be and it crushes something inside you beyond recognition.

You will never be her.

You don't like this. You don't like this version of reality. You're just a kid. You're a teenager, and you're still trying to figure out what this life is about. You are lost and confused and misdirected, and whoever thought you were enough to fill the shoes of this woman was wrong. 

But try as you might, you can't think of any way to fix this.

And so you stare.

You ignore the seconds as they stumble into minutes, ignore the shaking in your knees as an entire hour passes. You inspect every bit of your skin, every blemish, every mark. There's a scar on your hand from when you fell on the broken shards of your wine glass. You were thirteen. But it's there. The mark is there.

This is you, now. This is the new you. Or maybe the old you. You were never really sure about how the timelines worked. That wasn't your area of expertise.

You need a drink.

There is a stunning lack of fenestrated plans around the house. You don't give too much thought to it. It's not like you need the transportation. The world outside of the windows - the real windows - has yet to be submerged under sea.

This house is disturbingly familiar, though. It's your house, but it's not. Everything is different. Or, almost everything. The liquor is still in the same place. A small comfort.

You take a bottle of something or other and a large glass and sit on the couch. You don't want to think anymore. It hurts your head and your heart and while you should be trying to get in touch with someone (at least Rose. Rose should be here. You have to find Rose.), you can't bring yourself to do it. You don't want to see anymore. You don't want to acknowledge the time that has passed and reversed and twisted itself.  

And so you drink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry they've been so short and hard to come by lately. I'll try and make it up to you.


End file.
